


neither a burden nor a chore

by Kealpos



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M, One Shot, Short & Sweet, listen. its 2am. i just think a Lot abt pushing some1s sleeves up for em when doing dishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27059017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kealpos/pseuds/Kealpos
Summary: It's just dishes, Kyoya decides. He can do dishes.
Relationships: Ootori Kyouya/Suoh Tamaki
Comments: 7
Kudos: 109





	neither a burden nor a chore

"Now, please tell me you aren't doing dishes in the dark at two in the morning."

Kyoya blinks a little belligerently at the sink when the lights flick on, the brightness leaving him reeling. He doesn't look up, even as he feels Tamaki sidle around to him, slotting in perfectly at his side. "Alright," he says, "I won't tell you that, then."

"Kyoya," Tamaki chastizes, wrapping his arms around the man's neck.

"It wasn't in pitch darkness," he argues. "I've got a lamp on."

"Regardless. It's early. What on Earth are you doing, my dear?"

"I was just-" He starts, but it dies on his lips before he can figure out what he was going to say. Kyoya feels Tamaki include his head curiously, the hot breath on the back of his neck changing location.

Kyoya Ootori doesn't do dishes just for fun, especially not at two in the morning. He was just wide awake, an unusual occurrence to be sure, and he wanted to be useful, do something with his hands, something that didn't involve staring at numbers on a computer screen for several hours. 

Kyoya knew how to do the dishes, and he and Tamaki had the house staff go home on weekends, so there was a pileup. Tamaki always felt guilty whenever the staff had to deal with their weekend dishes, especially after that time Haruhi had laid into him about it, so it was productive for multiple reasons.

"Kyoya," Tamaki croons softly, drawing out the end of each syllable. "Come back to bed. The dishes can wait until after breakfast. I am all alone in our big bed, my dear. Alone, and so very cold, and sad."

He's laying it on thick, but Kyoya sighs, hunching over the sink. He gets the point. Tamaki's extending the olive branch, offering him an out without explanation. If he's too stubborn to stop himself, then he can just say it was at Tamaki's persistence that he didn't finish up his job.

Tamaki kisses the base of his neck. He's being very persistent, that much is true.

Kyoya relents. "Let me wash my hands. They feel covered in dirty water." Tamaki hums his agreement, kissing once more. Before Kyoya can stick his hands into the path of the running water, however, Tamaki's fingers trail down to his arms, where his pajama shirt sleeves are falling. Slowly, carefully, he pulls them back up to Kyoya's forearm, murmuring, "So they don't get wet," before patting his shoulder gently and peeling off of his back, and suddenly Kyoya cannot breathe. 

The amount of love he feels for this man is ridiculous. It's all-encompassing, insurmountable, eclipsing. He always thought that a domestic lifestyle would be stifling - he never had any role models in that area, not from his family, and not from anyone like him, anyone who could show him how to love a man as he does. He is pleasantly surprised, pleasantly overjoyed and exhausted and humbled, from the way that intimacy suits him.

Maybe it's because Tamaki himself is so suited for the quietly romantic lifestyle. His parents were unconventional as well, yes, but he still lived in a house with a mother and grand-parents that all loved him and one another, all carefully helping one another out without stopping to think of the consequences of the little actions. They had a vegetable garden and helped each other with the cooking and cleaning and cared for one another every day in a way only they could, and Tamaki absorbed every line of it, every gesture.

Kyoya's got a ring in his sock drawer. Another unconventional thing; it wouldn't be like his siblings' engagements. It wouldn't be to a stranger, it'd be to his best friend, entirely unarranged, a hands-off approach like Kyoya had yearned for and feared in equal measures all of his life. It's his own choice in every single way except for the one way that matters, and that one talking point doesn't involve his family at all whatsoever. It just requires Tamaki.

"Kyoya," Tamaki says finally, exhaustion and exasperation giving depth to the singular word. "Sweetheart, my petal, mon coeur, mon lapin, mon... mon chouchou. Kyoya." He's very tired and fed up, and you can tell by the fact that he's calling Kyoya by French pet names, which only occurs when he is incredibly desperate. "Are you finished here? Because while I make it a rule to never go up without you, I am getting very close."

Kyoya swallows the dryness in his throat and gives him a tired smile, adjusting the glasses from where they're falling down his nose, trying not to show the overwhelming force of his care, though it is incredibly difficult. He allows Tamaki to take him by the hand, the curves of their fingers slotting together just so. "Yes, of course. Yes. Let's get back to bed," he says gratefully, and follows him wherever he might take him, as he would, forever and always.

**Author's Note:**

> *writes tamakyo domestic life fever at 2am and immediately fucks off* you can TELL this is indulgent bc its less than 1k and half of it is pet names and the other half is just thinking abt how in love w tamaki kyoya is. title is from some really fucking good tumblr post abt doing dishes for other people.  
> [ speaking of tumblr](http://www.selkiecoded.tumblr.com)


End file.
